


4 BR/3 BA, Historic 1857 Gem on a Hillside

by innerslytherin



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-10
Updated: 2010-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-08 20:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerslytherin/pseuds/innerslytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apple trees are blooming and Dave takes Emily on a picnic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 BR/3 BA, Historic 1857 Gem on a Hillside

**Author's Note:**

> **WC:** 1,886  
> **Notes:** Written for the Spring Smutathon. Thank you to for the beta!  
> **Prompt:** Appleblossom

Emily lets out a little shriek and clutches at Dave's arm, but he's already seen her foot catch on a root. His hands are sure and steady as he catches her, letting her regain her balance before he murmurs, "Okay?"

It sends a deep warmth through him that her hands reached for him instead of the blindfold covering her eyes. It's a wide red bandana that she wears in her hair sometimes when she's working in his yard, and he thinks it entirely appropriate for today's outing. Anticipation is coiled tight in his stomach, eager to spill his secret, terrified that she won't accept the gift.

"This would have been easier if you'd let me watch where I'm walking," she says. He watches her mouth, which is smiling despite her criticism. She's beautiful, and the profound trust she has in him reassures him about this, here, today. She's an amazing woman, and he's not letting her go.

She's wearing jeans and sandals, which were his suggestion but are admittedly impractical for walking through an orchard. She's also wearing one of his shirts, a white button-down that looks sexy as hell tied at her waist the way she's got it. He shifts his grip on her arm, letting his fingers trace against the stripe of skin bared at her midriff. He loves her stomach and the delicate green tracery of the tattoo that curls its way up her ribcage on the left side of her body.

He loves _her_.

"It wouldn't be as much fun that way," he murmurs in her ear, and he relishes the way she leans into him for a moment.

"Where are we?" she whispers.

"You'll see in a minute," he says.

He's surprised she waited in the car as long as she did. He'd been prepared for her to get impatient and come looking for him, but she obviously trusts him more than he's realized. They've known each other for three years and have been sharing a bed for over two of those years. All the same, it's been a long, difficult, and sometimes frustrating, campaign to win both Emily Prentiss's heart and trust. But Dave Rossi has never been afraid of a challenge, and he doesn't know the meaning of the word surrender.

They reach the blanket he has spread out on the lush grass. It's already dotted with white-pink apple blossoms, shaken loose by the light April breeze. There are bees humming in the branches overhead, but here under the trees there is nothing but a long stretch of verdant grass. The bees won't bother with the fallen petals. And if they do...well, Dave is willing to risk a sting or two if he can pull off this day.

"Sandals off," he murmurs, and guides her steps to the soft blanket. Her head lifts slightly when she feels the thick cotton under her bare feet, and Dave smiles. "Sit."

"What--" she murmurs, but cuts herself off and reaches one hand down to guide herself as she sits on the blanket.

Dave takes his own shoes and socks off, then kneels on the blanket next to her. "Lie back," he says. It's hard to catch his breath.

She makes a curious noise but obeys, and Dave's hand settles on the strip of bare skin at her stomach. She sucks in a breath.

"You are so beautiful," he says, staring at her. The blanket is a light blue-and-tan plaid, and her hair is bunching up under the red bandana, but the shirt falls open at her throat and he leans down to brush a kiss there.

"Keep talking to me," she whispers.

He traces her lips. "I love you. You're the girl of my dreams."

Her lips curl up, though he sees them waver and he knows she's fighting that smile. She has such a hard time showing her genuine emotions, and he appreciates how often she shows them to him. He's been so lucky. She trusts him with her most cherished hopes and dreams, and he knows how hard it has been for her to do.

He's trusted her with some of his too, but what he's doing today, in his fifty-fifth spring, is the most open he can imagine being, pouring his own hopes and dreams into her hands and hoping she'll cup them together and hold onto those dreams and mix them with her own. He's never understood the phrase 'heart in mouth' until now, when he feels like he can't breathe or speak because his pulse is racing so fast.

"You are the epitome of sexiness," he murmurs, slipping a hand up to cup her breast. His thumb finds her nipple, confirming that she's only wearing a white tank under his shirt, instead of a real bra. He hears her hiss of surprise as he circles that nipple until it's standing at attention. Smiling, Dave lowers his head and catches the other nipple gently, so gently, between his teeth.

"Dave--God--" she says, her hand fumbling into his hair. "We're outside!"

He smiles. "The landowner won't mind."

"We're not at your house," she says. There's certainty in her voice. She's right, technically.

"Trust me," he murmurs, and traces his tongue down her throat.

"I do." Her whisper is ragged, her fingers tightening in his hair. One knee bends, her leg sliding up in what has to be an unconscious invitation. She can't be offering that intentionally, can she? Dave's hand rests on her belly, then slips further down to rest against her mound, but outside her jeans. He feels her body come alight with that touch, and he can't help the chuckle that rises to his throat. He loves the passion that is hidden deep inside Emily Prentiss, just waiting for him to unlock it.

His fingers find the button of her jeans, and he takes his time opening it and unzipping her jeans. His gaze is flicking between the way his shirt is rising and falling over her breasts as she breathes and the tempting view of red satin panties that the zipper has revealed.

"God," he murmurs, and his fingers slide down into crisp wet curls that make his cock stiffen with want. Her wordless noise echoes him, and then he is between her folds, dipping two fingertips into her, then slipping them up to brush her clit.

She jerks, her breathing going ragged. Her fingers tighten in his hair and she drags his head up, her mouth seeking his. He obliges her and kisses her hungrily as his fingers circle and flick across her clit. He wants nothing more than to tug her pants down to her ankles, spread her beneath him, and eat her out, but they're not so remote here that discovery is impossible. This is more discreet if they're caught, and he'll reserve going down on her for a later date.

She's whimpering, her free hand curling tightly around his wrist and pressing. He knows she likes more pressure there than the other women he's been with, and he obliges, letting his wrist rest heavy against her as well. "Gorgeous," he whispers against her mouth between kisses, "sexy, passionate, beautiful, exciting--"

"Dirty," she orders, her fingers tugging just enough at his hair, and he switches tactics just a bit.

"You're so fucking wet for me, probably can't wait to have my cock inside you, can you?" he breathes, dragging his nail lightly across her clit before going back to using the pad of his finger. "Love fucking you, Em. Love being inside that hot, wet--"

She cuts him off with a ragged cry as she comes, and Dave's cock twitches hard just watching her body arch up off the blanket with the force of her orgasm. It occurs to him that she's a hell of a lot wetter than she should have been, and it usually takes longer than that to wind her up enough to come. He eyes the blindfold, which was really just a practicality to keep the secret a little longer. Maybe she has a few hidden kinks that she wants to indulge.

"God, yes," he whispers, bringing her down more slowly. He kisses her hair and temple and cheek, breathing hard himself. "You're so perfect, Emily Prentiss. You're everything I could ever possibly want."

She's trembling when he slips his hand out of her pants and licks his fingers clean. God, he hopes the blindfold hasn't been a mistake. "I love you," he says, wrapping both arms around her and nuzzling her ear.

"I love you too," she manages after a while. "And I don't like the blindfold anymore."

Dave immediately unties it, and Emily stares up, wide-eyed, at the ceiling of white over them. The corners of her eyes are wet, but he's not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing. He brushes a callused thumb against her cheek, loving how smooth her skin is.

"I trust you," she says, her gaze leaving the apple blossoms to find his. Her eyes are deep, dark wells of emotion, and Dave thinks that most of it is love, and only a little bit is fear. That's a hell of a lot better than it used to be, so he'll take it.

"I know," he admits. "I'll never take advantage of that. I promise." He brushes her cheek again, smiling at her and wondering if his heart can break from loving someone so much. But then he realizes it doesn't matter. "You've stolen my heart."

Her eyes tear up again, but she pulls him down against her, her lips in his hair. "Every time I think I can't love you more," she murmurs.

"I have a confession," he says, and feels her tense, then relax against him. "You said you liked apple trees."

Her expression goes puzzled, then she looks up at the trees again. "We're _not_ at your house, are we?"

"Not entirely," he says, and gives her a lopsided grin. God, his heart is going to choke him to death, he's so happy and scared. He kisses her, then sits up and tugs her up with him.

The orchard isn't large, but the trees are mature and planted on a slope, the way he's learned they need to be. He points up along the row to the view barely visible from under the canopy. A sprawling white farmhouse is visible in the distance, past a low stone wall that is in need of repair. The "For Sale" sign has a "SOLD" slapped diagonally across it.

Emily's lips part as she stares at the house, but she doesn't say anything.

Dave can't take it for long. He tugs the papers out of his shirt pocket and spread them out on one jeans-clad thigh. "It's _ours_. Or it will be, once you sign." He pulls a pen out of his pocket too, then finally drags his gaze up to hers.

She'll know that he's not just offering the house. He's offering her his future. Hardwood floors, a diamond ring, a baby or maybe two, retirement and college funds and growing old together. His hopes and dreams, adjusted to fit with hers, and his heart, which is hers already.

Her answer isn't verbal, but they don't need the pen for a good long while.


End file.
